


Dreamers Often Lie

by starzangelus



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzangelus/pseuds/starzangelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was more than just a kiss. Captain Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamers Often Lie

**Author's Note:**

> For killians-tinkabelle. I wrote this just to spite you. AU after 3x05. Un-betaed.

  
  
It has been five days since Pan told him of Neal's existence and three since they lost the trail.   
  
It is Emma who makes the decision to halt the search and continue to look for Henry. David agrees and Hook follows wherever the savior goes. It is her mother who is reluctant to stop the search and after the many shouts and accusations, it ends with the young sovereign in the arms of her husband, face streaked with tears. No one speaks after that, save for the deciding of nightly patrols, and soon the small camp is overcome by silence.   
  
Hook offers to take the first watch, watching the flames die out and leave glowing embers, until the quiet becomes too unsettling. He circles the camp, sipping liberally from his flask, and contemplates how different his life would have been at this moment if he had taken Pan's offer. He still feels her mouth on his lips, her fingers in his hair, the press of her body against his, and it is intoxicating, setting his body in a raging fire. There is a slight shuffling to his right and he retrieves his sword, preparing for the attack. They are days from the Lost Boy's campsite and they are still in the middle of the dark jungle but Hook will not go down lightly.   
  
She emerges from between the leaves, steps sure and deliberate, and even shrouded in darkness she shines like the sun. There is a sliver of moonlight that manages to penetrate the trees and it falls on her like a pale curtain. She stops in her treks when she notices his sword.   
  
His heart is beating rapidly and adrenaline courses through his veins, struggling to burst through his fingers. His arm refuses to move and he watches as she eyes him curiously. She steps forward unexpectedly and it is like a bucket of cold water to his face, and his body finally relaxes. He isn’t sure how he manages to place his sword back in its scabbard and suddenly she is standing before him. 

“Emma?” he asks uncertainly, because he is terrified that this is somehow a dream.

“Shh,” she whispers and places a gentle finger on his lips. His eyes fall closed of their own volition. “Shh.”

And then she is kissing him, with the same fervor she had bestowed on him only a few days before, but it feels more urgent and insistent and with surprising force, she shoves him against a tree. Her hands grip his hair harshly, tipping his head to enter his mouth with her tongue. He grips her hips with unrestrained strength, sure to leave bruises, and she grinds against him, rubbing herself on his growing arousal. His mind is a lust-filled haze, heart beating a rapid tattoo, and he doesn’t realize that she has undone the buttons to his vest. It is as her nails scrape lightly across his bare chest that he freezes.

“Emma,” he murmurs on her lips and he attempts to stop her hands on their tracks. She bites his lip hard in retaliation. “Ah—“ he manages out and she is kissing him again, putting her hand inside his trousers, and this time he listens.

He is aware somewhere in his mind that this is wrong and that her parents are nearby, but her hands are on his length and _oh gods_ he has dreamed of this and he is too weak to ever deny her anything. Grasping her with his hooked arm, he tightens the hold and turns them so she is now against the tree. She quickly removes her shirt and then wraps her gloriously long legs around his waist. He barely has time to admire the magnificent view before her mouth is on his again.

Hook wonders if this is a dream, a brilliant fantasy conjured by the magic of this accursed land and for a agonizing moment waits for it to be cruelly taken away. Soon their pants are lowered and his hand is rubbing between her folds and her soft mewls are nearly enough to send him over the edge. It is Emma who closes the distance and guides him in slowly—the sweetest torture—until he is fully sheathed inside her. He wants to go slow and savor every single sensation but the roll of her hips coax him into a constant rhythm of rapid thrusts and he gets lost in the feeling. Slipping his hand between them, he presses his fingers into her most sensitive spot and she throws her head back on the tree, moaning loudly. He watches her with intent fascination as a bead of sweat trickles down the side of her face to her neck and he bends forward and wipes it away with his tongue. Hook supposes that he believed in a heaven once, perhaps in his youth when he was full of hope and possibilities, and he decides that this must be what paradise is like.

Neither of them last, the pace hurried and unforgiving, and suddenly she is clenching around him, gasping hotly into his neck, and he follows her quickly over the edge.  He has no time to revel in the bliss before she moves away from him just as swiftly as when she had arrived. She says nothing and he doesn’t push her, knowing that she will need time and, as always, he will give her anything (he wonders when this has become so). They dress in silence, a slight awkwardness permeating the air, and then she is disappearing through the brush, leaving Hook to ponder if it was a one-time thing or if it had even happened at all.

* * *

 

It is when they are walking through the jungle the next day, having chosen a path that leads them to Pan’s camp, that Snow sees the tracks.

He sees Emma stiffen—a certain set to her shoulders that she actually hides quite well—and David places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Emma,” he says quietly.

“Are you sure?” she asks her mother.

“Absolutely.” A radiant smile fills Snow’s face. “It’s him.”

Emma nods and then she looks back at Hook. “Do you know where we are?”

“Aye,” he replies neutrally. “I know where we are.” He presses his lips together, trying to keep the frown from forming. “I also know where he is.”

At this, all three Charmings look at him alarm. “What do you mean?” asks David.

“The trail,” Hook says, pointing to the noticeable lines in the dirt. “It can only lead to one place.”

“And what place is that?” Emma asks, noticing the strain in his voice, eyes boring into his.

He swallows thickly and this time allows the worry to show fully on his face. “The Echo Cave.”

* * *

 

They make camp at the next clearing, the cave still hours away on foot and the fatigue settling into their bones, and Hook once again takes the first watch. He isn’t circling around this time (there is no need, Pan knows all) and he lies on the ground on the far edge of the campground. He isn’t sure how he knows but the rustle of leaves confirms his belief an hour or so after the Charmings have laid down to rest. Before he even has a chance to rise, she is straddling him, mouth insistent upon his, and her fingers quickly make work of his buttons. Within seconds, most of their garments are removed and then she takes him in completely.

She sets a rapid pace, hands on his chest, fingers gripping and sliding through his smooth hair, and it takes all of his strength to keep his eyes open and not come undone from the sight before him. She is glorious, a siren, more commanding than Helen who launched a thousand ships, more beautiful than Aphrodite, and he is falling and falling and then that final piece fits right into place. He acknowledges right then what he has known deep inside from the first moment she had kissed him. It is her, has probably always been her, and he knows that he will follow her to the ends of the earth, to the depths of the underworld, to the end of time.

Without separating, he takes her by the shoulder and wraps his bad arm around her waist and flips them over, setting his own demanding pace. She is startled, he knows and she tries to bring him closer but he refuses and so she shuts her eyes. “Look at me,” he says, thrusting into her almost harshly.

She bites her lip, drawing blood, to keep from moaning loudly. “No,” she whispers.

“Emma,” he growls.

“Shut up.”

“Look at me _._ ”

“No.”

“ _Open your eyes_.”

And she does.

It is like the first time on the beanstalk, the more they climb, the higher he can see over her impenetrable walls, and so, like a pirate, he must scale them to find the greatest treasure.

He has always had a talent with words, using them as sharply as his sword, and Emma can see through lies, but she needs more than that, she needs gestures and actions and moments, and Hook—no, _Killian_ —can give her only this. He halts above her, stilling his entire form, and they lock eyes—stormy green like the ocean meeting blue like the sky—and he shows her—with his touch and his eyes and his soul. Sliding out of her slowly, leaving just the tip, he rocks back in, a gentle rhythm like his ship on a calm sea, in and out, and he never looks away from her face.

Lifetimes and eons pass by quickly, he isn’t sure, and her gasps become more erratic and his moans become more difficult to muffle, and then they are flying over the edge, and he only has a moment to see the glint of a tear sliding down her face before he buries his face in her neck, body slack with exertion. They lie there for several minutes, her hands slowly stroking his back, caressing every scar, until a distant caw of a bird stirs them from their musing.

A companionable silence follows as they disengage their slick forms and dress without urgency. She is tense, he notices, with a slight purse to her lips, and it brings a cold feeling to his stomach because it is the same exact face she wore when he told her she had been abandoned.

“Emma,” he begins but she shakes her head and his heart clenches.

“I have to go.”

And she walks away from him the way she always has.

* * *

 

He wants to look away, he tries with all his will but her eyes keep him motionless, securing him in place the way she did at the giant’s lair and on the bed at the hospital. He sees surprise and fear and—his heart lurches—hope? It doesn’t matter, none of it is of any consequence because they are here and he offered to go first and now is the moment for truths.

“… _to believe that I could find someone else_ , _that is until I met you_.”

The ground shakes and a path is shown.

* * *

 

They are sailing through the stars, black sail billowing erratically, and for a moment he allows himself to relax. The young lad is alive, Pan is contained, the Dark One will find a cure for David, and her smile as they lifted into the heavens will carry him through eternity. The deck is silent, a few of the Lost Boys scattered here and there, and then Baelfire— _no_ , Neal—is standing next to him with soft eyes.

“I wanted to thank you, Hook. For everything. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

He knows that Neal means his return with the bean, but he feels the sting as he remembers having left with it in the first place. “It was nothing, young lad.”

Neal cocks his head and studies him curiously. “You look tired, man. Give me the helm. Go rest for a few hours.”

 “It’s fine, Bae—Neal. I’ll handle it.”

“You look like hell, Hook. Seriously, go rest. The ship needs her captain at full capacity. I can take it from here.”

Always blunt, just like his mother. Strangely, the memory doesn’t hurt at all. He releases the wheel and allows Neal to take over. “Aye. A few hours.”

He leaves the deck and goes to an isolated cabin he knows is empty, smiling softly as he remembers the young lad resting peacefully in his quarters.

It is in the strange place between consciousness and dreams that he hears the door open and the light footsteps jolt him into wakefulness. He is about to rise to shout a warning at the intruder but she is faster, and suddenly she is settled against his side, her back to him and he is too stunned to make a movement or sound. She waits a few moments until she reaches behind her and tugs his arm over around her body, placing his hand under her cheek, her hot breaths puffing into his palm.

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his chest and realizes with embarrassment that he hasn’t felt like this since he was a young boy, struck dumb into silence. No one has ever made him feel the she has and he knows that he must end it before it goes any further. She has her boy back and Neal and her family and she is a princess and he is nothing but a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem and he will always, always, always follow wherever she goes, even if it is in the opposite way.

“Emma,” he whispers like an epithet because her name is the only language he knows now. He tries to move his hand away but she holds on to it firmly.

“Don’t,” she says and he is hers to command. “Just sleep.”

“I don’t know what you want, Emma.” And if he sounds broken, he hopes she doesn’t hear it.

“I think you do,” she murmurs and she presses a soft kiss into his palm.

Within minutes, she is asleep, her chest rising and falling like waves and he brings her more closely to his chest. He breathes in her hair, rubbing his nose against her scalp and sighs. It is a stolen moment, he thinks, and decides that he will take anything that she offers. _Be a part of something_ , he remembers her telling him, the passion in her eyes stirring him from the dark depths.

When he wakes she is gone.

* * *

 

_“Good.”_

* * *

 

Emma wakes and slaps her hand against the alarm. She breathes deeply to calm her racing heart and pushes the sheets away to drive away the phantom caresses. She is sweating and aroused and she is tired of going mad from the dreams. It has been months now, ever since they came to New York, that the dreams have haunted her—a canopy of trees, lips on her neck, calloused fingers on her hips, thrusting and moaning and feeling alive and flying and falling. It doesn’t make sense. She hasn’t been intimate in years yet the sensations feel recent and familiar but she is certain that she has never felt like this before in her entire life.

A dull ache begins in her chest and once again she reminds herself that she is fine and there is nothing missing her life. She has Henry and everything is okay. The dreams and nightmares mean nothing and she is just feeling the stress of the life of a single mother and the anticipation of raising a soon-to-be teenager. Her life is complete.

She feels the murmurs in her hair, the heat within her skin.

_It will be because you want me._

She shivers.

Everything is okay.


End file.
